


The Heir From District 2

by PenelopeGrace



Series: Tomione Hunger Games AU [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, As always fml, F/M, Magic, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 16,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeGrace/pseuds/PenelopeGrace
Summary: They thought he would win.Hunger Games AU + District 2!Tom Riddle + District 12!Hermione Granger





	1. I. District 12 Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please stop me. Now. I really hope that this is going to be a short story or a one-shot, cause. . . Well, I have like 10 or 20 other fanfics I really need to update.
> 
> District 2!Tom Riddle District 12!Hermione Tomione Hunger Games AU

_I._

To the elites and ordinary citizens of the Capital, there was nothing special about the girl from District 12. The upbeat, weirdly-dressed escort, the Capitol’s very own eccentric Luna Lovegood (who was too crazy and otherworldly even for them), moved her hand this way and that in the blue bowl of fire, completely unfazed and untouched by the licking flames. She held up a single slip to the cameras.

This Reaping of District 12 was no different than the ones before it.

A name was called. This one for the ladies.

“Hermione Granger.”

The sea of pale faces turned to the girl with a frightening mass of dark hair. She herself did not cry, though she could hear the muffled shrieks from her mother and the soothing lies her father speaks under his breath across the square of District 12. She will be alright, she heard him say. The crowd of seventeen year olds parted for her, quickly stepping away from her with nothing but silence and resignation.

She made her way up to the stage and listened as no one volunteered for her. Luna trotted over the other bowl of flames and selected a male tribute. The boy was just as unremarkable as her. Short in height but yet fifteen years old, he sobbed softly to himself.

No one volunteered.

It was not a surprise.

Both tributes of District 12 looked weak as the scores of District 12 tributes before them. The Capital, the audience, the Gamemakers, and everyone in District 12 knew the boy would die the first hour. Within the first 10 minutes of the 73rd Hunger Games.

They were right.

They knew the girl, despite how bright and clever she was, would fall short of extraordinary. She would not survive the first day.

How very wrong they were.


	2. II. Reaping Day of District 2

_II._

He did not volunteer.

But if he was not chosen, he would had. It was an honor. And because there were so many things he could do in the Arena. Things away from the prying eyes of the Capitol.

Slughorn, the Capitol escort dressed in swaddling green robes, instructed him to stand straight next to the female tribute of District 2. She was menacing in her height, untouchable in her attitude, and powerful in her own right.

Bellatrix Black.

But she would have never had gone if she knew he decided to fight.

The trainers of District 2 murmured quietly to themselves, out of the ears of their tributes. Bellatrix, strong and fierce, was shadowed by Tom Riddle. Bellatrix’s own trainers thought she would fail to win the Games.

They were correct.

He was brilliant. Never before had District 2 seen a stronger candidate. Top of his class, best of his generation, undefeated duelist for the last three years in the running since he was thirteen years old. If he had missed the reaping, everyone was sure he would had taken the crown for the fourth year in the row.

But no matter.

He had a true shot at the Games.

Correction: He would win the Games for District 2. There was no doubt from anyone.

They were wrong.


	3. III. Training

III.

Training was different yet also the same as the previous years, according to the Capitol trainers. The Career Districts of 1, 2, and 4 showcase their aggression and, what Hermione quietly thought, their arrogance. She hid quietly among the training stations on camouflage and ward-making. Spells that would be useful for long-term survival.

She ran into no one and kept to herself all throughout training.

Except. . .


	4. IV. Training Day 2

 

_IV._

He was bored. He understood the demonstrations of the other Careers. Their pathetic attempts at intimidation. To him, however, he noticed their weakness and their strength. Tribute 1 Female—he has never bothered to remember names—always shifted her eye a little to look away before casting a curse, almost as if afraid of her own power.

Absolutely hilarious.

He would be extremely happy to demonstrate the more obscure curses for her. With a perfect amount of hesitation, which was none at all.

He moved to the lift, the doors opening to reveal the tiny hairball from District 12. More of a scared creature than a worthy tribute. He smirked as the door closed behind him.

He pushed the button for the roof, which was next to the lit button labeled 12. The lift was slow, and the girl's anxiety floated over his senses, making his heart pound with delight.

“I'll make your death as painless as possible,” he told her, facing her smugly.

Her eyes sharply glared at him, deadlier than a knife. Her voice was shrill. “Why, I suppose I should thank you for that kind offer. I'll offer you the same courtesy, thanks.”

Her sarcastic words sent a jolt of surprise through him. He blinked once, looking at the hairball again. When he saw the recordings of all the Reapings across the districts, she truly seemed unimportant. Like one of the sniveling, dead tributes before her. But he was surprised by the life still within her.

She did not believe she was dead. Not possessing any desperation or terror Tribute 8 Male, who was only 12 years old, held. Or the flinching movements of Tribute 5 Male whenever Tom walked by.

Her voice cut across the silence. “If I truly wanted it to be painless, I would step off the platform before the timer finish rather than put my death in your hands.”

“Would you even know how to read a timer, District 12?” He retorted.

“We are starving, not brainless,” she told him, the whites of her teeth flashing. The doors for the 12th floor opened with a ding. She brushed past him. “Excuse me, you're in my way.”

His head turned, he watched her as she walked a little more proudly than her past self on Reaping Day. There was steel underneath all that hair. A lioness in wait.

“And my name is Hermione Granger, _District 2_ ,” she added, just as the doors closed.


	5. V. Training Day 3

_V._

Now that he had seen her, he was unable to stop seeing her everywhere. He saw her at the survival stations, the ward making stations, the plant identification station, and the water purifying station. When he finally managed to stop looking at her, he felt her eyes on him.

Don't look back. . .

Don't. . .

He saw her head quickly turned back, her wand tapping on the dried firewood. A small fire sparked and fed on the wood and leaves.

“Riddle. Your turn.” The Capitol trainer gestured to the obstacle course. Behind the District 2 Tribute were the rest of the Careers, carefully watching.

Tom nodded.

He moved through the obstacles easily. Stunning a trainer here, dodging there, and blasting a few props away. He stood in the storm of his own destruction, breathing in the chaos, exhaling the poisonous ashes. His aura was sweltering.

How could anyone beat him? The Careers of District 1 and 4 exchanged glances behind his back.

With a flick of his wand, he was clean once more. Almost as if under a strange compulsion, his eyes found her purposely minding her own business. A spark flew from her wand, and her Capitol trainer seemed surprised Hermione was competent in spell-casting.

It was the second sign that proved she was more.

He would not make that mistake. He glanced over his Careers, smiling charmingly at the way they were just biding to kill him. Even Bellatrix.


	6. VI. Scores

_VI._

Rita Skeeter, with her obnoxiously big glasses and sleek blonde hair, announced the scores. A little ribbon of light appears by her head, matching she revealed.

It started with District 1. The female tribute, Ginny Weasley, got a 9, which was a very good score. Her partner, the blonde smug boy called Draco Malfoy, got 8. Bellatrix Black landed a 10, and Tom Riddle, the Career hounding her subtly throughout training, pulled an upset in the history of scores.

An 11.

How would she survive against that?

District 3 were nothing impressive. District 4’s Delphi received a 9 and her partner, Barty Crouch, pulled a 8.

A few scores out of the Career Districts stood out to her. The tiny tribute, Colin from District 6, got a 5. Then Marcus Finch, the boy from District 9, with his menacing scowl, grabbed a 7.

Then District 10. The male tribute were sullen throughout training, but the brute size of him made Hermione wary. Greg Goyle pulled a 5, and her eyes widened. It was. . . A little lower than she had expected.

She got a 6, and her partner received a 3. She was not one bit surprised. He had not left the corner of his room at all, even for food.


	7. VII. Interview with Tom

_VII._

They loved him. His interview with Rita Skeeter went off without a hitch. He charmed them all, with his easy smiles and relaxed, reassuring manner.

"Capitol ladies wonder. . ."

Hermione gritted her teeth as that annoying voice grated over her ear drums.

". . . If there is someone special in your life," she cooed. "This is just between us friends." Her red lips dragged out her last word. Skeeter eyed him as if he was the most delicious piece of meat she had seen in ages.

Yet, he was not disturbed. If anything, it seemed his smile was even wider now. "Oh, Ms. Skeeter. I admit there is a girl who has caught my attentions."

"Is there a name?"

His smile was mysterious. "There is. She doesn't know yet, but I want to tell her. Waiting for the right moment. I have always been a perfectionist. I want everything to be perfect. The dinner, the candles, the chocolate. I would hate to ruin the surprise."

Through his smile, his teeth were startlingly straight. Bone white. She was certain that every word he spoke was made of lies.

Hermione was afraid of what was underneath his mask.


	8. VIII. Interview with Hermione

_VIII._

She wore a slim, navy dress with flats. It underlined her tiny waist and the small physique she possessed. She looked breakable. Like a doll meant to be protected and cared for.

That was until she opened her mouth.

"You are top of your class back in District 12. A dedicated student who has read all the books," started Skeeter, looking very bored. "One of your instructors noted you had plenty of extracurricular activities. What is your favorite activity?" Skeeter paused, as if she couldn't remember the tribute's name. "Hermione?"

He knew it was going to be bad when she stood up straighter, a gleam in her eye. She breathed in deeply.

"I am the proud founder of a movement called S.P.E.W."

"Spew?" asked Skeeter. She gave a little side-eye to the audience, as if asking,  _can you all believe this girl?_

Hermione's shrill, loud voice sliced through the quiet tittering. She glared straight at the audience, as if daring them to laugh some more. "It stands for Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare. The elves are treated poorly by their owners, and they have been brainwashed—"

Skeeter full-on barked in amusement. "Brainwashed? They are perfectly happy with their servitude."

Now he was certain he wasn't the only one who wanted to tear her into pieces. Albeit for different reasons. If she felt this way about house elves, without a doubt, she would possessed ten times the passion for the Hunger Games. And he could only imagine her fury against the Capitol itself.

Her attitude, her questions, her fight was treasonous. House elves liberation was officially not on the list of treasonous thoughts, but he would not be surprised if the President place house elf liberation on the list when this Hunger Game was over.

Skeeter managed to cough and not-so-discreetly rolled her eyes at every moment possible. She gave up on trying to ask Hermione any further questions, choosing to give facial reactions. Hermione's voice continued, gradually becoming louder and louder with each near-traitorous word coming out of her mouth.

Perhaps she had a wish to die.

Or perhaps, she was insurgent. With a plan to undermine the games.

He had to admit it to himself, she knew how to make it count in the three minutes of attention she possessed. To use the interview rules of the Capitol against them by skirting around near-treasonous thoughts.

He wondered what else she could do. A small smile curved his lips.


	9. IX. The Rainforest

_IX._

The pod lifted her straight up into the Arena. She looked around, feeling the strong ward forcing her to stay in position. The tributes all centered around Cornucopia. A meter in front of her laid her wand on the wet dirt. That was her first priority. Backpacks and packs of something were about four meters ahead.

The Arena was a rainforest this time. Grey clouds loomed in the sky, and she swore she saw toucans hiding in the trees. Or at least, what appeared to be toucans. She had seen the games ever since she knew how to watch the screens in the District Square. What appeared to be one harmless thing could be something incredibly and dangerously different. A safe place could be a death trap.

Speaking of dangerous, she looked two pods down. Tom Riddle, the District 2 Tribute, stood poised and confident. His wand was floating inches in front of his chest, and she knew—just knew—the wards were preventing him grabbing ahold of it before the timer ended. The other Careers' wands were twitching but none possessed the same skill he had. He caught her staring and threw her a smirk.

Arrogant pig.


	10. X. The Countdown

_X._

A rainforest.

It was one of the many Arenas he had prepared for, trained for, lived for. His wand, nearly in his grasps, floated in front of him. He glanced around, wondering who he should curse first. That insipid boy from District 1 had to wait, of course. He stood four pods down, his wand twitching on the ground.

Not everyone had the gift of wandless magic. Especially when there were wards baring down their throats, trying to suppress their magic—at least, for the first 60 seconds of being in the Arena. The Capitol hated a death too quick. It was why the wands of the tributes had always been blocked from casting the Killing Curse. He could hardly care.

There were other spells, darker curses he had yet to try on a witch or wizard.

He nearly could not hold his excitement. He really wanted to see their power. Their effects. Their potency.

And to feel the magic coursing through his blood.

The timer counted down to 40 seconds. Then to 35. His fingers twitched.

Almost.

30.

Almost time.

25.

The sound of that annoying crying got louder. It started off from soft whimpers, but it was definitely grating to his ears.

He swore the male tribute of District 12 would die. Slowly. A thousand times the amount of time Tom had to listen to that pitiful sound. He turned to the tribute, five circular platforms down. His eyes boring death.

20.

The tribute hiccuped. Then he moved.


	11. XI. The Countdown Part 2

_XI._

Her district partner would not stop crying.

Hermione was not impressed. Perhaps she would feel pity afterwards, but this was not the time to show weakness. This was the time to run. To hide. To show them what she could be. To show them what she could do.

20.

He hiccuped. The cries had faded away, and he stood straight for the first time, his eyes a bright shade of scarlet and blood.

19.

And she saw the change in him. He looked. . . Resigned. Purposeful, even.

18.

He took a step into the ward.

Off the platform.

The last thing she saw of him alive was his bright, peaceful face as the ward killed him. She thought his family would be relieved that he felt no pain in the end.

The timer turned to 17.

But the sound, the boom, the announcement of the cannon was even louder.

It sounded a lot like the drum of her heart. Boom, boom, boom.

1.

0.

The wards surrounding her fell. She snatched up her wand, grabbed a pack of unknown items, and ran into the depths of the jungle and away from the chaos of the bloodbath.

No matter how many steps she took, she held the echo of the cannon in her heart. Singing of her death.

And theirs.


	12. XII. Fire

_XII._

He saw her running into the jungle. His lips curled. No matter. He would get her sooner or later. With his wand in his hand, he already decapitated the head of the nearest unfortunate tribute with a slash of his wand.

He dueled—but it wasn't really a duel, for they did not possess their wands—against the paired tributes of District 6. The tiny male tribute surprisingly knew how to create a wandless shield to protect them, his hand outstretched.

But Tom only smirked as he threw darker and darker curses against the absorbing shield. It really was a shame the Killing Curse was blocked from being cast, for no shield could block it. But he was known for his persistence, and with an obscure curse that past the shield, the male tribute literally mummified within minutes. The female had ran for it while the shield was protecting them, to his disappointment.

Oh, well. He would get them all sooner or later.

Two dead.

He nodded to Bellatrix Black, his district partner, as she tortures a tribute to her amusement. She threw him a happy look of pure sadism. He saw the Careers were stopping some of the tributes from leaving and running into the rainforest. The red haired Career hesitated on some of the smallest tributes.

No matter.

He grasped his wand tighter, feeling the power coursing through his veins. Then with the face and grace of an angel, he brought destruction. He  _reveled_  in his force, in his ability to affect  _so much_. All these lives in the palm of his hands.

They burned a bright shade of orange. Like the evening sun bowing before the night.

Bellatrix's laughter rang above the screams.


	13. XIII. The Cannons

 

_XIII_.

She kept on running until she couldn't. She examined her surroundings. The creepy green vines. The extremely large leaves. It all looked too healthy, she supposed. She sat on the ground, her back to a tree she didn't recognize. Carefully, she picked through her bag.

Some dried food. A bezoar. An empty water bottle. A compass. And a small gold cauldron that could easily feed a family for a month.

Then the cannons came.

They sounded like her heart.

**Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom.**

14, she counted. Including her district partner, the first cannon.

They were already down to only 10 tributes, after the bloodbath. She was not surprised.

The Career of District 2 must be currently possessing the highest kill count now.

She glanced around. With a wave of her wand, she muttered the charm to add water into her bottle. Now that was better. She took a deep gulp of freshening water.

Now, she needed to find a place to sleep. A place to hide. A safe place. 


	14. XIV. District 12

_XIV._

Mr. Granger was a simple man in District 12. He was a squib like his wife, Mrs. Granger. Detailed records showed the last witch in the family was on Mr. Granger's mother's side, four generations up.

Like his father before him, he was a dentist. He went through it the manual way. He yanked out decayed teeth with some metal tools, held his breath as he examined a set of rotten teeth, and smiled brightly while he flossed a nicely set of slightly but naturally yellowed teeth.

When Hermione was born, he knew she was different. It wasn't for the fact the Grangers always had a male firstborn, though he supposed that may had been the first clue. From the very moment she was born, her wide brown eyes were open. For lack of better words, he would say, she gawked at the world around her.

She did not cry.

It was her playground, a place to experiment. She satisfied her own curiosity by quietly observing as he worked from a very young age. She spoke well, not in the same sense as other babies of her age did.

The questions she asked. . .

_Daddy, why was that tooth bleeding?_

_Daddy, what was the stick he was holding?_

_Daddy, what is your job title?_

_Dad, what is the Hunger Games?_

It was the question about the Hunger Games when she was 7 that made him realized how conformed he became to the idea of the Hunger Games. The stifling presence, the sacrifice of twenty-three children every year.

He realized his daughter could be chosen. And with that realization, he and his wife encouraged her to be the top of the class, to learn more, to remember more spells, to be beyond exemplary. To be beyond extraordinary. They pushed her into dueling club, nature club, and such, watching with bemusement as she formed clubs like S.P.E.W., Homework Club, Teeth Cleaning, and the secretive, treasonous Anti-Capitol District 12 Citizens. Or the AC12 Club, as it was known by the peers with their magical coins.

If she was ever picked, Mr. Granger knew she had a chance to live to the bitter end. Maybe he was being selfish by telling her to do anything to survive, no matter what, on that dark night her twelve year old classmate was picked.

He was relieved she wasn't picked, that another child had died instead.

She really was the daughter he was proud of and always will be. As a witch, she was able to help him in the dentistry practice in magical ways. Spells to remove pain, spells to restore the teeth enamel. Spells to make teeth a brightening white. He knew she dived deeply into the books for information, studying beyond the spells and magic taught by the schools.

Their backyard was her practice area.

It contained evidence of exploded potions that failed. The schools of District 12 taught simple potions, but Hermione went further than that. How much further?

He didn't know other than some powerful pain relieving potions she brewed for patients undergoing surgery. They were so potent that the doctor's practice two streets down paid for some bottles to be sent at the monthly rate.

He watched the screen in the District Square. Her district partner was dead, and he felt nothing but relief that she was one step closer to home.

14 dead with the bloodbath. Skeeter said it was the second deadliest bloodbath in Hunger Games history.

He was glad that it was and she had lived.


	15. XV. The Dead

_XV._

She figured hiding up in the trees was far safer than being on the ground. Still, she cast a few wards to prevent herself from falling down thirty feet along with some notice-me-not charms down below to send anyone away.

She stayed quiet, her back to the trunk of the tree. Vines curled around her in a makeshift sleeping bag to keep her warm in the chilly night, and her wand was clutched in her fist.

In the quiet of the night, the Capitol Anthem began to play.

The dead tributes.

She straightened. These were the ones she needed to ignore. The ones alive were in her way.

The first tribute was the male from District 3. Following him was his fellow district tribute.

That meant the tributes from 1 and 2 were still alive. That was disappointing. She partially hoped the tribute from District 2 died, but he was too good, she supposed.

Oh, well. She would see him later.

She was sure of it.

Both tributes from District 5 were dead. Only the boy from District 6. Both from 7. Both from 8. The girl from 9. Both from 10, including the brute. The boy from 11. And finally, her district partner.

14 in one day. She took it in, remembering the histories and the previous Hunger Games she watched.

Wow.

It must be a record.

She quickly slipped into sleep.


	16. XVI. The District Token

_XVI._

14 in a day. The Careers gathered the supplies and set up camp in the clearing. Tribute 1 Female set up the wards to detect intruders. She was terrible at cursing others, but she had aptitude in building wards. She would live another day, he supposed. The other Careers were busy practicing little spells or stretching for the night watch.

But unlike them, Tom was at the start of the jungle, looking past the vines.

He heard the call of the snakes, the excited whispers. There were potential victims in there, deaths to be made and checked off. They had no idea how much in danger they all were.

_Smelly girl walking past the stream. Ssstay away from my home. . ._

_Tall boy. You smell of blood. Let me have a taste._

_Where did the girl go?_

_I don't smell her anymore._

_Her scent is gone._

Tom's head jolted up. Someone had gone invisible? Very camouflage? He frown. There were ways to go around that, however, it would be far more difficult to find her. Whoever it was. He resisted the urge to ask the snakes to find her. He did not want the cameras to see.

It was not time to reveal  _that_ ability yet.

The black stone on ring on his finger glimmered in the stormy night. His beloved district token.


	17. XVII. Another District Token

_XVII._

She woke up in the early mornings and began to move under a mixture of notice-me-not charms and the Disillusionment Charm while nibbling on her magically multiplied dried fruits. She had the AC12 Club to thank for her arsenal of skills. They taught her how to sneak around the District with few the wiser.

AC12.

S.P.E.W. was mocked by all for its ridiculous acronym and its cause. Hermione genuinely believes the house elves must be helped. The Peacekeepers discredited it, and most people ignored it whenever she passed out little S.P.E.W. buttons and other tokens.

Only the AC12 Club knew what those buttons were capable of.

Communication.

Once a button was activated by an AC12 member who was on the roster, it became a coin detailing the next meeting time. Though it could always revert back to the S.P.E.W. button, in case of the Capitol cracking down on the club. Homework Club became a place to practice spells down in the meadow, underneath a complex illusion spell.

She could name her fellow conspirators. Neville Longbottom. Harry Potter. The twins, Fred and George. And hundreds more. When she started this out, she never thought there would be much support for the AC12 Club.

But now she knew better. There were thousands and thousands in District 12 unhappy in the Capitol. It was amazing to find  _so many_  like minded people.

She wondered if there were others in the other districts. Then she smiled. Of course, there were. There always were.

She was secretly fearful when she was chosen for tribute. What if the Capitol had discovered. . .?

But no. Her district token, the hilarious, mocked S.P.E.W. button clipped to her transfigured jacket, possessed messages of encouragement. Every time she casually fiddled with the button, the message changed.

_You can do it, Hermione. Don't worry about ac12. We are still actively recruiting. -HJP_

_We await you. Gred._

_We believe in you. -CC_

_District 2 Male tribute - kill count 7_

_District 2 female tribute - kill count 2_

_District 4 female tribute - kill count 2_

_District 1 male tribute - kill count 1_

_District 4 Male tribute - kill count 1_

_6 Careers near Cornucopia. Tribute 2 male may turn on them first._

_Stay alive, Hermione. Do whatever it takes to come home. - dad_

She neatly fixed the button and then slowly climbed down the tree. She made sure her Disillusionment Charm was still woven around herself tightly. Then she whispered to her wand, " _Point me_."

She wasn't able to walk north, towards Cornucopia, for seven yards when she began to hear rustling. In the distance, there was a deranged set of laughter.

**Boom.**

She didn't dare jump in shock. Her eyes quickly scanned. She watched as the vines suddenly twitched and a young blonde girl, who couldn't be more than twelve, looked straight at Hermione and pressed her fingers to her lips, as if to say shhhh.

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

9 tributes left. The Careers might be turning on each other by now. The lower the number overall, the more tempted they would be to fight. At this rate, this Hunger Games wouldn't last a week.

The girl peeked back at Hermione and then gestured to the vines. "Climb. Hurry."

Hermione, hearing a set of footsteps, didn't question her. She pulled on the vines, finding a grip and took a hold of the branch. She pulled herself up, panting as quietly as possible. The blonde girl continued upwards.

Bellatrix Black, through the thick green leaves, appeared. She was on foot, the other Careers quickly following. Well, all the Careers except for District 4's female tribute.

Hermione touched her button, as if checking to see it was still on.

_T4 female at camp. 5 Careers surrounding you and t6._

_T11 dead._

Hermione's heart plummeted. She looked up at the blonde girl climbing higher and higher up the tree. Hermione herself was twenty feet above ground, and the branches would not be able to take her weight if she went any higher. The current one was already straining under her weight.

So she craned her head aimed her wand at Bellatrix's head. Then an idea struck as she glanced at the vines.

With a twitch of her wand, the leaves on the tree next to her shook.

The redheaded tribute looked. "Do you hear that?"

"A little bird up in the tree," cooed Bellatrix. She looked up that tree, as if trying to find someone. "Let's get them down."

Hermione quietly moved down, closer to the ground. It was nearly perfect. The backs of 4 Careers were to her. She could see the side of Tom, who had his ear out and his eyes narrowed. Her heart thumped harder.

But she had to believe it. Believe what her people had told her. What was implied. That if he was given an opportunity to turn, he would seize it.

With a quick slash of her wand, the green vines attacked all of the Careers.

To kill.


	18. XVIII. The Kills

_XVIII._

When he saw the vines coming for him, he quickly Apparated and appeared two meters away. He knew something was wrong when all the whispers of the snake disappeared. As if they were holding their breath, waiting for something.

But where was the culprit? Where?

Ah, there. She was in the tree, a little blurry due to her little charm. Nevertheless, he had to thank her. The vines deflected from him, thanks to his shield.

It was hilarious the little witch tried to kill him this way.

Here was how he showed his appreciation. With a quick jab of his wand, the little ferret began to cry as the vines choked his neck and the Torture Curse ran through his body. Perfect. He wasn't even realizing he was being strangled. The vines sliced through his throat.

**Boom.**

The redheaded tribute caught sight of him, quickly attempted to burn through the vines. Smirking, he demonstrated a magical cut through her stomach. Her innards began to spill out slowly, blood and internal organs bubbling from her stomach as the vines began to push through her screaming mouth.

**Boom.**

He was a little disappointed it was the vines that killed her first by pulling out her brain, because he never had a good chance of observing this particular curse in full.

Bellatrix, unfortunately, managed to get free from the vines, crackling as she cursed Tribute 4 Male into oblivion through repeated use of the Torture Curse. She—not Bellatrix—cracked his neck via the vines.

**Boom.**

Three Careers dead in 4 minutes. It was perfect. Bellatrix turned her wand to him, smiling. "Sorry, Tom. Everyone says I won't win."

"You won't," he said calmly.

"Nice vine trick, Tom," she commented. Her wand was raised. "But now it's time. Down to us. Three Careers left. Three weaklings."

Tom only smirked at her. "Funny you think the vines were me."

Then apparently making a decision, a dark jet flew at Bellatrix. She coughed, her wand tightening. Before she was able to say a single spell, the wand flew out of her weak grip.

Blood began to spill from her body, dripping from her pants. Tom carefully peered at his fellow tribute, his body carefully facing towards the offending tribute. With a curious wave of his hand, Bellatrix's clothes parted to reveal her bloody skin. Deep slashes all over her body spurted dark red blood, moving faster now.

"Who, who?" choked Bellatrix, her eyes dimming. All signs of mirth disappeared from her face. "It wasn't you. Couldn't."

He shook his head. "No. I didn't kill you." He didn't know what else to say. Bellatrix, his training partner for the last five years at the Academy. He never really knew her.

She nodded, the pool of blood shadowing her fallen body. Then her eyes went unfocused, staring at nothing.

**Boom.**

He didn't flinch at the sound of the cannons. He glances upwards at the partially invisible tribute and nodded at her. Then turning his body, he Apparated straight back to camp.

No Tribute 4 female.

But he cursed as the fierce flames burned through the remaining supplies.

Still, it was closer to the end now.

5 tributes now.

2 Careers, 1 outlier, 1 weakling, and the would-be winner of the 73rd Hunger Games.

He knew it now.

She would win.


	19. XIX. The Riddle

_XIX._

She didn't understand why he spared her. But she had sat frozen on the branch of the tree when she realized what she had just done.

She killed 4 people.

She was a murderer.

And she spared the life of the ultimate murderer. When it came down to Bellatrix and Tom, she chose  _him_.

He was the bigger threat.

Yet a part of her couldn't understand why she damned her.

And most of all, she couldn't understand why  _he_ let her live another day.


	20. XX. The District 2 Mentor

_XX._

Albus Dumbledore. Victor of the 29th Hunger Games. Representative of District 2. Current mentor of the District 2 tributes, Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Black.

Although Bellatrix is dead now.

All down to Tom.

Gellert, the other mentor, was seething. "He had that bitch from District 12 right within reach, and he let her slip away!"

Albus wasn't like Gellert, whose style was similar to Tom's when he won the 28th Hunger Games. Brute force, kill, kill, kill.

His priority was to protect his sister, who was reaped into the Hunger Games. There was no Career female to volunteer in that entire decade, and he, an actual Career, took it upon himself to protect her to the very end.

He was successful.

And then she exploded in her own magical fury, literally, when she realized it was only the two of them left. Suicide. To save him. To let him win.

Her blood covered him when they announced, "Albus Dumbledore, Victor of the 29th Hunger Games!"

The Capitol considered it one of the greater Hunger Games that had ever existed. It had all the elements: the strength, the magical capability and demonstrations of the great Albus Dumbledore, who was one of the best Victors of all Victors, and the tragedy of the siblings who knew only one could live. He wanted to be the one to die. Instead, Ariana cursed him to live in memory of her.

He trained the Careers in the Academy over the decades. Some won, many died, and few knew of exactly what they were getting into. The death, the chaos, the blood, the gore, the lies, and the lack of glory. The suffering. Gellert was convinced it was the best thing for the District to train as many killing machines as possible. Bellatrix Black and Tom Riddle were only the latest in a long, long, long line of killing machines.

He personally prefered to train the younger children. The older ones would had been touched by Gellert's bloodthirst, and it would had been too much for him if they asked him the best ways to kill another wizard if. . .

But as he watched the screens solemnly, watching carefully at that moment where Tom chose to spare District 12's Hermione Granger, he began to wonder if he was somewhat different than Gellert's killing machines. No killing machine would dare to let a potential competitor live another day to possibly shut them down. From a strategic point of view, it was unwise. Even though she did help him in a very great way.

For a witch from District 12, Hermione Granger was something of an anomaly. She was stronger than the previous tributes, stronger than even when the lean but clever Oliver Wood won several years ago. She had more skills than the typical tribute. Perhaps even more than the typical Career, who knew how to maim and slaughter.

Controlling the vines was a sign of how clever and complex the spell was. Controlling objects was one thing. But to control a living object was on a different level.

The Capitol elites and audience knew now that the tides were changing. When Hermione started out, her odds were 1 in 200 compared to Tom's who was 1 in 3. They were so certain it would come down to Delphi, Bellatrix, and Tom. Even Albus was convinced it would be, but with Bellatrix's death, everything had changed. Next to the screen showing the live footage of Marcus Finch pushing through the vines with an ugly snarl was a screen displaying the stats by living tributes' kill counts.

_Tom Riddle - District 2 - 7 kills_

_Hermione Granger - District 12 - 4 kills_

4 kills. And they were not easy people to kill like the targets Tom picked off early in the game. They were Careers. All of them.

Below her name was her odds of winning. 1 in 3. Tom's had changed to 1 in 10.

They were uncertain of his ability to kill her.


	21. XXI. The Pin

_XXI._

She didn't know how long she remained on that branch. She knew that girl from District 6 ran as soon as she heard the cannons running, jumping from tree to tree. Who would want to remain to a place so close to 4 deaths?

Her wand was still clutched around her fingers. Bellatrix's wand was in her other hand.

An elf popped in to take away the bodies. It was a small, wrinkle creature, who was surprisingly quick to unravel the rotting vines away from  _her_ victims. It snapped its fingers, and the red-haired girl disappeared. A wave, and her blood was gone.

The dirt, untouched by anything at all.

It swooped down to pick up the blonde boy's wand and placed it on his chest. Then the blonde's body disappeared as well.

But it wasn't the retrieval of the body that brought Hermione out of her stupor. It was the shiny pin attached to the inside of the elf's grey rags.

Or what she thought was the pin. At first.

The elf bent down again, this time to magically draw all the blood back into Bellatrix's body. He concentrated, paying no attention to the tribute only twelve feet away. This time, she saw the shiny object even better.

She saw the letters.

S.P.E.W.

Her button. The S.P.E.W. button.

And in the right hands, it would turn into an AC12 coin for communication. Almost instinctively, Hermione shoved Bellatrix's wand into her pack and began to climb down the vines. She moved away from the bodies, from the elf, from the place reeking of death.

She moved with purpose.

She ran with hope.


	22. XXII. Him

_XXII._

He stood up from the awkward position of crouching nearby the stream. He still possessed his pack of some essential items, packing as if he expected the camp to be destroyed. Well, he was not a Career for nothing.

Now there was him.

Tribute 4 Female.

Tribute 6 Female.

Tribute 9 Male.

Tribute 12 Female. Hermione Granger.

5 left.

He couldn't help but wonder if he was next.


	23. XXIII. The District 12 Mentor

_XXIII._

Oliver Wood. Victor of the 67th Hunger Games. Of District 12. Mentor of Hermione Granger. He slowly knocked back a drink of amber liquor. It burned his throat as it made its journey down his gullet. See? That was good.

He remembered her name. That meant she had a chance to win.

Sponsor money was rolling in by loads. His head nearly reeled when he saw the sheer number, but from Hermione's ability to multiple dried food and to draw water into her bottle along with other skills, he doubted he needed to send anything. Unless she got hurt. Which was good. Some of those sponsor money required. . . Favors.

He was conflicted whether or not he should help her get home. One hundred percent devotion. Fleur, the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games, whispered to him of what she needed to do after she won her games when he became a Victor and visited her District for the first time. The things they made her do.

He knew Cedric had it worse and better. At least, he rarely ran into the men Fleur was forced to entertain.

And now. Gabrielle was in the games. He bowed his head, as memories of unwanted groping came back to him. He stopped grooming himself a while ago, choosing to let his hair out and his beard long. And he found that Capitol ladies and men didn't like the way he smelled all the time.

Well, it was the smell that sent them running from him. Good.

Hermione was different from him and Cedric and Fleur. She was smaller, yes, and that hair was currently being a frenzy fashion trend among Capitol girls. She was old enough to become an escort as soon as she stepped out of the Arena alive.

He was secretly hoping that Gabrielle would die painlessly. As for Hermione. . . He was conflicted.

On his desk was an innocent button. S.P.E.W. The bruise on his cheek and his shin were evidence pointing towards Hermione's survival. He grimaced as he thought of the two house elves tackling him into a supply closet he had never seen before like he was some mere criminal.

The grumpy one held a menacing butcher knife in his hand while the younger elf spoke about the necessities of S.P.E.W. The grumpy one with a permanent frown only glared at the younger elf before they, together, forced Oliver to sign a magically binding document. And yes, it was insane. Bonkers.

Two house elves!

Forcing him!

To sign a magically binding document that will instant kill him if he dared to divulge any secrets.

At first, he thought it was a little too much for an organization that was for house elf liberation until the document revealed itself once his magic was anchored to the complex curse.

Anti-Capitol District 12 Citizens.

The AC12.

He bowed his head over the button. In all of his years, he has never imagined the AC12 existing. He had always thought the Capitol was as sure and certain as a mountain untouched by the howling wind. But he was wrong.

There were people out there fighting. In big or small ways, a little piece of dirt crumbling the way the mountain stood. Hermione Granger happened to be the most visible of them all with the best chance right now to change the course of the Capitol forever.

Making a decision, he looked over the sponsor donation lists. Then he glanced at the gold AC12 coin, no longer the amusing S.P.E.W. button. Written in clear words on both sides of the coin was this:

_Hermione, come home. Whatever it takes._

She had something few tributes had when there were in the Hunger Games. People ready with open arms and hearts to put her back together.


	24. XXIV. Another Tribute

_XXIV._

"Four Careers dead," she said, the leaves rustling. "He killed them. That boy from District 2. I heard them screaming." The girl hid too well behind the tree and the vines. However, Hermione knew the spells that would reveal her.

A part of Hermione was scared that instinct was telling her to eliminate her. To survive. Even though she was quite certain the girl was not a large and immediate threat to Hermione. Not in the same way Tom Riddle was.

Standing on the ground below, Hermione nodded at the small tribute from District 6, though she could not see her. Hermione's tongue did not feel heavy around her lie. "I know he killed them." Hermione raised her wand hand. "I won't hurt you."

The girl's face popped from the bundle of large leaves. "I know you won't. I'm not like the Careers. My name is—"

"Gabrielle. From District 6," Hermione finished. "Your sister. . ."

"Fleur," she confirmed. "She won many years ago."

"And now you are here."

She nodded sadly, climbing down to the ground. She barely came up to Hermione's chest in height. So small, so unfair that she was in the games. Only twelve years old, Hermione estimated. "Not even my sister can save me, you know."

She didn't know what to say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabrielle was particularly hard for me to write. I couldn't figure out how exactly fit her in, except that I do want to fit her in. Hopefully, her transition wasn't too awkward.


	25. XXV. District 2

_XXV._

Myrtle Warren, of District 2, failed to meet the standards of a Career. So she was transferred from the Academy to the Peacekeeper School. She honestly was a bit glad that she failed. For one thing, she cheerfully got to see Bellatrix Black die. And of course, last year, she saw Olive Hornby die after her head got chopped off by the District 4 Tribute with an actual axe. Now that was something hilarious. She had always thought Olive's head was too big on her neck.

She liked Tom. He was one of the few who didn't make fun of her back in the Academy. He was patient, and he knew her name.

Of course, she was also someone who knew that he killed his uncle, Morfin. She wasn't quite certain if he knew she knew, but she wasn't stupid when she saw his eyes glazed over in sheer awe an hour after Morfin died three years ago.

That was when she was twelve, a year before she transferred.

She didn't know how he killed his uncle, but she considered Morfin good practice for when Tom would actually go into the Arena. They had said the first death was always the hardest.

They were probably right. Gellert was not a wizard known to be wrong.

When the Peacekeepers came to investigate his death, she was the person who gave Tom his alibi. That he was in the library. Which was true, but she claimed she saw him in there two hours longer than he actually was.

"Cadet Warren," greeted the lead Peacekeeper, Mad-Eyed Moody. His staff thumped loudly, and despite his appearance inviting ridicule, his reputation preceded him.

She wished she had some of that reputation. "Sir."

He glanced at the screen, currently showing Tribute 4 Female and Tribute 9 Male battling in a small skirmish. He was surprisingly nimble, especially with that broom of his. Myrtle thought he would at least survive this small battle, so long he wasn't too reckless.

"How is our tribute doing?"

She lied, "He is doing just fine."

But she wasn't sure of that. One of the first things Gellert taught them all was to always eliminate a threat.

And Tom failed.


	26. XXVI. An Alliance

_XXVI._

They formed a tentative alliance. Hermione would give Gabrielle some multiplied food while Gabrielle would do the shielding, warding, and hiding spells.

"Not to be mean or anything," Gabrielle said, chewing on a piece of dried plum, "but I could always see a slight shimmer of your charm. I mean, I knew what to look for, cause my sister taught me a few tricks, which was how I knew how to track you, but mine is better."

Gabrielle was right. Hermione tried to look for the signs of the spell on Gabrielle's wards, but she saw nothing of the glimmer Hermione's spell possessed.

"It is pretty late to make an alliance," commented Hermione. "The cross-district ones, at least."

"But it is an unusual game. You never had a Career who took out more half of the tributes directly and indirectly within the first 10 minutes of the Games. With that magical aptitude."

Hermione, sitting below on a thicker branch, asked, "You think he's going to win?"

"Well." A pause. "You don't seem the type to believe in Divination."

"I think it's a load of bull."

She giggled. "Divination had been helping me survive. It told me that you would not hurt me. It told me that you were going to win. I have been reading the leaves."

Hermione didn't know what to say on that. She didn't feel like she was going to win. And if she won, there was the implication that Gabrielle would die. And it didn't seem kind or polite to talk about that.

"Good night, Gabrielle."

"Night, Hermione."


	27. XXVII. Air Battle

_XXVII._

He snarled as lights flashed. It was nearing sunrise, but it happened to be good luck when he found Tribute 9. He was battered a little from a previous fight, and he had an inkling of who he fought.

Spells missed him and some of them deflected. He had to say the tribute was tougher than his previous victims. For one thing, that bloody broomstick was helping him avoid the spells and curses.

Of course, the tribute was being followed by a great column of fire. Once a part of the broomstick. . .

Tom kept on firing curses, carefully controlling the Fiendfyre to avoid burning up the entire Arena. The tribute decided to bolt, flying towards the sliver of the rising sun.

Tom extinguished the fire. Then he leviated himself and began to fly after the escaping tribute, his hair fluttering around in the wind.

The zig-zagging tribute looked back, his eyes widening.

Then with a particularly nasty grin, he pointed his wand at the broomstick and said, " _Accio broomstick._ "

The broomstick listened to his command, though the rider attempted to take back control of the broom.

With a jab of his wand, Tom unleashed the fury of his magic. Instead of pointing at the tribute, he pointed at the sky.

Lightning struck fast, thunder roaring in glee. The electrocuted tribute fell to the jungle floor, the broom zooming towards Tom. He clasped it in his hands. The grey clouds rained overhead, but not a single drop of water landed on him.

**Boom.**

Another tribute down.

The storm melted away to reveal the bright orange sky above. Tom slowly floated down to earth, the district token on his finger reflecting a distinctively bright red light. He lifted his head to the heavens above, reverently breathing in the warm morning air, despite the sudden sharp pain in his chest.


	28. XXVIII. The Final Three

XXVIII.

She swore she only left her alone for a minute. Then she turned around, and Gabrielle was gone as if she had just vanished into thin air.

She would make an unbreakable vow that it was true. A single blink of an eye, and suddenly, Gabrielle was screaming and calling out for her sister. For Hermione. For anyone to help her. Hermione began to run, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the black-haired girl from District 4 throw a dark blue curse towards her from behind a tree.

Hermione simply ducked out of the way. Ten meters away was Gabrielle, bleeding from some slow-acting curse. She had managed to crawl towards some cover of a strange, large plant with head-sized leaves. Hermione wasn't too sure how she managed to get ahold of Gabrielle without Hermione noticing, but she knew who cursed her.

With a flash, she gritted her teeth and nonverbally cast. The dark spell's incantation, Sectumsempra, was the same one she used on Bellatrix Black. The very same one that eventually killed her. It missed the tribute by a few inches.

The enemy tribute slashed in a complicated movement, and behind Hermione, the tree began to fell. Quickly moving, Hermione spun on the spot and Apparated with a crack to Gabrielle's side. Crouching down, she looked at the girl's pretty blue eyes, held her bloody arm tightly, and whispered, "Don't worry. You'll be alright."

The District 4 tribute frowned, not quite seeing where Hermione had went. She had her back to Hermione and Gabrielle's position. She called out, "Come out, come out, wherever you are, District 12."

Gabrielle smiled weakly. She choked out, "I. . . knew. . . she would. . . kill me. Saw it. . ." Then there was a soft exhale. Her eyes turned distant, thick red-black blood gurgling from her wounds. "Fleur, don't. Don't do it. Live for me."

**Boom.**

"And now there are three," she says, laughing. "So where are you?"

Standing up, Hermione raised her wand at the tribute. She didn't know what spell she even cast, but she knew she wanted to  _make it hurt_. She shot a spell at the tribute's back and reveled in her screams, and the magic coursing through her veins was a fire she had never felt before. Pleasure that washed away all the sorrow she previously felt.

Twisting, the tribute turned to fire a counter spell. And in a nick of time, she was pulled into a sudden Side-Along-Apparition. A millisecond later, and Gabrielle's body and the nearby plants exploded into a million pieces.

Even this far away, with the other tribute's strong arm supporting her weight, Hermione could hear her screams of outrage.

"Fuck you, District 2! Fuck you!"


	29. XXIX. Back Home in District 12

_XXIX._

They took shifts watching the screens. It was mandatory viewing for all citizens during certain times, such as the bloodbath, the interviews, and the scores. But this time, they decided to watch every moment. They counted every tribute, marking each number as if it was a timer until Hermione can come home.

Neville Longbottom wasn't the strongest of the bunch. He was lucky that he grew up in one of the more affluent families in District 12. Slightly better than the Grangers, but not as good as the Mayor's family. He first met Hermione on the third day of school in their first year. She was extremely bright and incredibly self-assured in her know-it-all, snobby attitude. She correctly said, "Neville, it's levi-O-sa, not levio-sa." And of course, she demonstrated that spell with perfection to the pleasure of her surprised teachers. After the rest of her class failed a dozen or so times.

They were shocked she had that much control over her magic.

Of course, the fact that she was actually liked by the teachers including the bat-like, intimidating Professor Snape of Potions and that she was constantly correcting the motions by the hapless class did not endear her to any of her peers.

Well, most of them anyway.

It turned out that Neville  _thrived_  under her corrections. Without her, he probably would had failed over half of his classes and maybe held back the first year or so.

They knew Hermione's chances of survival were not good early in the games. Once she survived the bloodbath, her chances of coming home increased geometrically.

Of course, it helped that she had messages from home.

When Harry, Neville, and Hermione were in a study group on a project about the fake history of Panem, they started talking. Hermione already had her S.P.E.W. club formed, which was only consisted of the three of them. The AC12 was built on the foundations S.P.E.W. made when they realized the treatment of house elves wasn't so far off from the treatment of the districts.

They had some goals.

Increase magical knowledge beyond what the Capitol taught them.

End the Hunger Games.

Increase power of the districts.

Connect to other districts.

Find evidence against the Capitol.

Create an underground system of communication free from Capitol influence.

Four years ago, they had not a clue of where to start. But the Protean Charm Hermione found built their magical communication system based on a complex document that bound a life to it. It was a mixture of the Secret Keeper Charm along with the Unbreakable Vow that made the AC12 impossible to be betrayed.

With the Potter Library hidden underneath the wine cellar along with the Longbottoms' secret attic of books and scrolls, they were able to build their knowledge. Anything they didn't know, they experimented and made their own spells. Curses, jinxes, potions, wards.

Harry took down meticulous notes on how Gabrielle cast her wards and charms. The motions, the incantations, the very expressions of her face.

And they learned a lot from the District 2 Career. From Fiendfyre to lightning to flight, it seemed he was untouchable by anyone at all.

Then the District 4 Career met up with Hermione and Gabrielle. She was about to make a grab for the unaware older tribute until Gabrielle stepped into that Apparition and took the curse meant for Hermione.

Why Gabrielle did that bewildered Neville. But he knew that he and the AC12 were in that girl's debt forever now.

They held their breaths when Hermione threw the Torture Curse at the Career. Then the Career was able to shake it off, faster than anyone should had been able to. She countered quickly with a curse none of them recognized.

Then in a flash, the District 2 Career stole Hermione away.

The camera lingered on Gabrielle's decayed body a little longer than necessary. She was more of a rotten skeleton now with beautiful blonde hair forming a halo around her skull.

"Why?" whispered Harry, his face pale in the dim light of the classroom they borrowed to watch the Hunger Games in. "Why did he save her?"

No one had an answer to why the Career saved their Hermione.


	30. XXX. Panem's President

_XXX._

President Dolores Umbridge had the entire country in her grasps like her father before her. She was pleased with this year's selection of the tributes at first, especially with the powerful, charming, and attractive tribute from District 2.

Then this happened. The District 6 Tribute female, Fleur's sister, died for the District 12 Tribute female. Fleur's sister had to be in it this year. They rigged it specifically for her. Fleur would be an emotional wreck, she was certain. But the fairest Victor of them all really stepped out of line when she failed to serve one of her clients correctly and managed wandlessly to curse him into oblivion.

It was unfortunate. That ruined her price a little. Clients were wary of buying Fleur for a night now.

Delphi, the District 4 female tribute, was reasonable looking but she wasn't the beauty that Fleur was. Or had the potential Fleur's sister had. Unfortunate that the sister died. She would had made a great replacement for Fleur.

Then there was the District 12. S.P.E.W. What a disgusting concept for those ugly little half-breeds. She definitely had to die in the best way possible. But even though she was snarling at the screen for Tom Riddle or Delphi to kill that idealistic bitch, she did not die at all.

Instead, Tom, who perhaps suffered an electrocution to the brain they did not know about, was  _helping_ that tribute this late in the game. He of all the tributes knew how to win this game, but he must had threw out the book and everything he had learned from Gellert.

Only Delphi could win at this point. She had to order Gamemaker Fudge to make sure one of the tributes—from District 2 or 12—died.

She pulled out a lavender scented memo and began to write with one eye on the screens.


	31. XXXI. The Heir

_XXXI._

Merope Riddle, once known as Merope Gaunt, curled in the dark corner of the room while her baby fought in the Hunger Games. The maid brought in food and reminded her of the time when she had been sitting in front of the screen for too long.

Two more.

Then her baby was safe.

Her fingers tightened around her silver locket. The Academy had taught him great magic, yes, but it did not teach him  _everything_. He was seventeen years old. It was supposed to be the next Hunger Games where he would win. This was all wrong.

The Heir must come home. To accept the call like she did twenty years ago.


	32. XXXII. A Reason

_XXXII._

"Why are you helping me?" she asked, sitting on the rock by the stream. "You know you can win. Kill the District 4 Career and me. Then you will be home safe."

In a duel, he knew it wouldn't be easy to kill her. And at times, he found it difficult to even think of killing her. Logically, he knew he could walk up to her right now and bend her neck a little bit. Crack, boom. One more to go.

But there was something about her that made him pause. Maybe it was her evident lack of fear. Maybe it was because he  _knew_  that she was the only one who could keep up with him, the demonstrations of the vines showcasing her magical aptitude. And maybe. . .

Fate. Who knew?

"Because in the end, it was always meant to be you and me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. I had to rewrite it, cause Tom's motives didn't sound quite right the first time around. Now this is much better. :)


	33. XXXIII. The District 12 Escort

_XXXIII._

Luna Lovegood would never be promoted to a better district. She didn't mind. She liked the lack of surveillance District 12 had. Besides, no one really cared about District 12. It was the flashier districts like 1 and 2 that every Capitol Escort wanted. Well, not every, she supposed.

She didn't want it.

There was something special about District 12. She had been escort for the tributes for eight years now, ever since she was sixteen years old and deemed too surreal to be trained as a Gamemaker but nevertheless possessed a pleasant voice. It was a simple job with some unofficial mentoring when Oliver wasn't awake. Before Oliver became mentor, a fairly drunk witch named Trelawney who made predictions mentored the children, watched movements of the stars, and never really put in any effort until Oliver won. Luna was not successful in obtaining any sponsors to the earlier tributes in her career as an escort.

Six years ago, thinking she was passing out or drinking one too many sugary juice cups, Luna heard the drunk Victor said, "That one was going to win." She was correct. It was Oliver Wood who pulled the win, but he would had never made it if it weren't for Trelawney sending him the necessary salve. Once Oliver came home and became an official mentor, Trelawney stopped putting any effort at all into the next dozen or so tributes. She preferred her bottle and her tea cups.

Every year got easier, she supposed. Tributes picked. Dragged into the Arena. Then boom, boom.

But there was something strange. She pinpointed the moment. Three years ago. She wasn't sure if the tributes were picked by luck better or they seemed a little better fed than before. Two years ago, they seemed taller and wider. Which seemed wrong, because Luna had not grown in four years.

One year ago, both tributes did not die in the bloodbath. They showed a certain amount of aptitude before they met their respective ends.

And now. This year. The dead tribute from District 12 seemed like the scores of tributes before him. But Hermione Granger. It was like District 12 were sending better and better tributes every year. Oliver Wood was just an anomaly.

But Hermione Granger was the start of something new.

Something was happening in District 12. She had no doubt about that.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she missed Trelawney stumbling into the room. She dropped a small box on the table, the eyes in her glasses not really focusing at anything. "Send Hermione this."

Luna looked at the tiny box. It was the size of a baby's foot and tied with a used bow.

"Tell the Gamemakers they can look at what it is. They won't figure out what it really does."

She glanced up, curiously examining the Victor. There was a spark in her body that wasn't there before, Luna noted. "Why send this?"

"The Heir must come home."


	34. XXXIV. District 13

_XXXIV._

Remus Lupin of District 13 looked up from his keyboard. The screens on his left showed the current Hunger Games.

Ghastly entertainment.

Then he looked to the screen on his right.

His eyes widened when the feeds of hacked surveillance cameras showed Gabrielle's mother screamed in the District Square. With a fist of her hand, she unleashed the middle finger at the Justice Building. The people around her had tears on their faces, and one man, with a snap of his fingers, set the nearest Peacekeeper on fire.

There was no audio.

But he felt their anguish all the same.

With a wave of his hand, he directed a pen to write a memo.

_Forward: District 6, on brink of resistance_

It was time.

At last.


	35. XXXV. Something New

_XXXV._

She examined his shoulders as he lazily parted the sea of vines to let them through. He was lean, and a small part of her thought he would fit well among the people of District 12. Then again, she thought he was the kind of person who could fit in anywhere. It took a lot of will not to smack Rita Skeeter in the nose for being her pompous, annoying self. Hermione had chose to talk over Skeeter; Tom played with her out of his own amusement. Slipping back into her memories of that interview, she was quite certain from the way he was rubbing his fingers together was only a sign of an urge to curse Skeeter.

She whispered, "If you were not here, what would you be doing?" They both knew too well what  _here_ was. It was impossible to forget.

"Training for the next Hunger Games," he answered flatly. "If I wasn't picked this year, I would had volunteered the next."

"How did you become this?" She gestured up and down. "A Career?"

He paused. "Isn't it obvious?" He turned his head to her. "I was chosen."

She didn't know what to say to that. From all the things she had heard about Careers, she never thought that they were picked, selected. Just like how the reaping chose its victims.

He stopped, and Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. He commented, "Good place to set up camp. You know how to cast wards?"

She nodded, trying to examine why this place was good. Sure, there were thick vines spilling from trees and the trunks of said trees were thick. But they were in a small clearing, and Hermione didn't feel comfortable with that. After a moment of hesitation, she voiced her concerns to him.

He smirked, his wand tip flashing a deep navy hue as the ward flexed and then strengthened at his command. "We outnumber her."

"Arrogant ass," she muttered.

His smirk widened, and he leaned towards her. He clearly heard every soft word. "What did you do? Hide in the bushes? You'll blend right in." He nodded to her head, to her hair. Tauntingly.

"Trees," she answered, rolling her eyes.

"We here from District 2 know how to act like predators." A pause. "It seems you have yet to learn how to act like one."

She bristled.

He raised his eyebrow. "Or even know that you are one. Or did the four Careers you knocked off slip your mind?"

Shaking off the surprised faces in her memories and trying to erase the fact that she had  _killed four people_ , she quickly changed the topic. She seized upon their current little survival situation. "So what are we doing? Sleeping on the dirt?"

Thankfully, he let her go, not pushing any further about her kills. "No, we are more sophisticated people than that." He snapped his finger, and his backpack on the ground unzipped itself. A dark green object flew out and quickly unfolded itself. Strings zoomed this way and that, and metal sticks clicked into position.

A tent. It was small, barely reaching the bottom of Hermione's shirt in height, and it would be lucky if it could even fit the two of them.

Raising her nose to the sky, she snarked, "I thought you said we were more sophisticated than that. It can't fit both of us unless I sleep on top of you."

Bending down, he raised the tent flap. "Not a bad idea, Hermione."

Flabbergasted, she stared as he disappeared from her view. She was not certain if there was a single drop of sarcasm in his words. The tent shook once, and then he called out, "You coming or staying out in the cold?"

"Small," she commented one last time. She took in the careful wards he set up, a second line of defense after her first line. The Career would find trouble if she tries to break through. So they were safe.

For now.

She lifted up the flap of the tent, puzzled when she saw Tom sitting cross legged on the ground. His back was bent to the slope of the tent, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yes. Enough room for us," she said, calmly. Really, they needed to sleep on top of each other to be comfortable in here. She did not look forward to it.

She closed the tent flap behind her. Then the tent changed. It was as if the space inside had increased dramatically in height, weight, and length. Had she escape to another dimension or something?

Hit her head too hard?

She stood up, her mouth dropped as she spun herself around. There were  _rooms, sections in the tent_. "Is this. . .?"

He sauntered over to little armchair in the corner next to a glowing fireplace. Smugly, he told her, "An undetectable Extension Charm. All the cameras would see is the tent jolting around but no sound. And yes, no way they can hear us inside, but we can hear what is outside."

"Brilliant," she whispered in awe.

He got up and pressed against her back. She shivered at his presence, at how  _close_  he was to her. A little inch back, and she would be pressed to his front. Gently from someone who was trained to be a killer, he purred, "Allow me to demonstrate something." He took a hold of her right hand and then lifted it up in front of them, palm up. "With this, they can't see us, but we can see out.  _Show me._ "

The dark drapes of the tent disappeared, and Hermione gasped. It was as if the tent had become invisible as they stood in a small clearing of a jungle.

"This is. . ." She was speechless for once.

He drew their hands into a fist. " _Hide._ " Then the tent became visible again. He still held her hand, the dark stone of the ring on his finger winking at her. He lingered over her four seconds too long, and when he swept away, she missed the closeness he offered.

"You asked me what I would be doing if I wasn't here. I hoped for teaching students magic."

"Teaching? You don't seem the type."

He shrugged. "And what would you be doing, Hermione? If you weren't here."

She bit back her answer. AC12. The club. The resistance. It was what she would be doing. Building their independence outside of the Capitol. Due to the magic binding nature of the document, she was unable to tell him the truth.

"S.P.E.W," he answered himself. A pause. "That was when I knew you are anti-Capitol."

She froze.

"They can't hear us. Anything we say. In fact, I can tell you that I personally think our so-called beloved Panem President Umbridge should be called Umbitch." He settled back into his armchair, leaning back and soaking in the warmth of the fireplace. "That comment alone should be worth an execution by a squadron."

She nearly cracked a smile at that. That was what the AC12 thought as well. Fred even made one of those glamored buttons saying,  _President Umbytch must die._

He examined her as he said, "I hate these Games."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She was careful in her response. "Why do you hate them?"

"It's a cycle, Hermione. The Capitol oppresses us, forces us to send more people to die for them, and they hunt for our children. It'll never end unless someone stops it."

She paused. "What would that person be?"

"A revolutionary."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, nearing the end. In case you haven't noticed, I have updated to the chapter number to 45. Also, this will be part 1 of my Hunger Games AU. Wheeeeeeeee. Remember when this was supposed to be short?


	36. XXXVI. The Head Gamemaker

_XXXVI._

The memo gave off a sickly sweet smell of lavender when it ran into his chest. He knew who it was before he even read the name of the sender. Then again, the President required no introduction. Running a hand through his oily hair, Head Gamemaker Fudge stood in the Control Room. A holographic Arena with only three numbers were glowing in green.

With shaking hands, he opened it.

_Protect District 4. Kill the others._

He swallowed. That would not be easy. The Career from District 4 was outnumbered by the allied District 2 Career and District 12 tribute. Who both possessed more kills than the District 4 Career had under her belt. And magically, they were much, much stronger than the soloing tribute. At the moment, she was on the other side of the Arena, which meant. . .

District 2 Career and District 12 tribute were alone.

He turned to the nearest Gamemaker and ordered, "Send in the dementors to the northside Arena. Target District 2 and District 12."

"Yes, sir." A pause. "Sir, there is also a package being sent to District 12 from her mentors. Do you want me to send it now or hold it off?"

"Hold. Dementors first."


	37. XXXVII. The Smell of Fear

_XXXVII._

Staring up at the ceiling as he laid on the cot, he shivered once and then twice. He frowned, his nose sniffing immediately. Without a doubt, there was something happening. He was used to the cold, yes, but the night never became so cold without a reason. He lit the tip of his wand with light and found himself looking at Hermione. She was in a far worse condition than him. She was shivering, despite being underneath the mountain of blankets.

He listened carefully, his heart dropping to a steadier, calm beat. No whispers of the snakes. They had cleared the area. Something big was happening.

"Hermione?" He quickly waved his wand, his thicker jacket melting on. "Get up. They are coming for us."

"What?" But he didn't need to say it again. She was already on the move, her blankets kicked off and her clothes slipping back on.

"It's affecting you much worse than me," he realized. That was when all the signs clicked into place, pieces of a puzzle forming a picture.

"Why?"

"You have more happy memories."


	38. XXXVIII. The Reporter

_XXXVIII._

Rita Skeeter gasped as Victor Fenrir Greyback from District 4 peered at the screen. The cameras moved away from Delphi's tired trek through the jungle after a hilarious mishap with nasty blue pixies. It zoomed towards the tent shared between District 12's Hermione Granger and District 2's Tom Riddle. It was unfortunate that District 12 tribute made it to top 3. It meant Rita had to remember her name now.

She didn't really liked her after her insipid monologue on that stupid house elf-whatever. She didn't know anyone who really cared about the bloody house elves.

She pushed up her glasses and blinked. "My, my, my! Sky darkening, temperatures are dropping rapidly. And it looks like dementors are coming. What a surprise!"

The two tributes came out of the tent. Tom, first. He was slightly rumpled from that awkward position of sharing a closed space with a girl. Honestly, he should had left her sleep outside or something instead of letting her sleep on top of him. To keep watch, or whatever that was called. She didn't care, but she would love to have Tom once. Or twice. Whatever the price. She wanted to see him bare and look at her with  _begs of mercy_ on his lips.

The dementors snapped through their wards. Skeeter began informing the cameras of the dementors, almost on autopilot. "We all know that dementors are a Class 5 magical creature. They have the ability to suck all happy memories of their victims. A dementor's kiss will render a person soulless."

The cameras saw the first dementors before the tributes saw them. Tom held her behind him as he cast an unrecognizable dark curse at the nearest dementor. It shred itself into pieces, fingers grasping at itself. The other dementors backed away, clearly unaccustomed to that sight. Tom quickly aimed for the next victim. They floated away from the dark jet of grey-ish black light.

Tom, keeping one eye on the dementors, said, "Come on, Hermione."

The girl mouthed something.

"What?"

"Think of something happy," she said louder, her wand's glowing a bright white. "Think of something happy. Think of—"

The dementors swarmed closer.

With a wave, Tom obliterated the closest one grabbing for Hermione. "Come on, Hermione. I can't hold them back forever." A pause. "I can't think of anything happy." His eyebrow furrowed in concentration. Dark tendrils, shadows floated around them. Dark against dark. Dementors pushing against his magic.

"Tom. . . "

Wisps of white light surrounded them.

"Think of a happy memory, Hermione."

" _Expecto—"_

The dementors surged forward, sucking at the air. The District 12 tribute's eyes darkened in despair. A single slash of the Career's wand, and that offending dementor fell into nothing.

He quickly grabbed Hermione and whispered into her ear, " _Viva_ —"

Whatever he said next, Skeeter wasn't sure. But it was enough to make the other tribute brightly smile with watery eyes. She waved in a pattern and shouted, " _Expecto Patronum!"_

A silvery otter came forth, flowing through the air as if it was the sea. Swimming in and out of the dark tendrils of Tom's curse, it herded the dementors into a circle while the curse wiped the dementors into nothing.

Together, darkness and light pushed back waves upon waves of despair.

Victor Fenrir Greyback softly uttered, "Poetic."

She did not ask anything further from the District 4 Mentor.


	39. XXXIX. Familiar Ideas

_XXXIX._

Upon the utter decimation of the dementors, they slipped back into the tent. Tom was careful to seal the entrance. The Extension Charm revealed itself as Hermione breathed, as if she could not get enough air in her lungs.

"Hermione," he said, his warm hands clasping around hers. They were ice cold, but he knew dementors tend to have that effect. Just as the doing the so-called Dark Arts had the effect of warming his stomach among other particular sensations.

"Tom." His name was a sigh. She said, "I'm so cold. . ."

"Fireplace. Sit down in the chair." He helped peel off her cold layers until she was in a simple shirt and pants without socks. He summoned a wool blanket to cover her legs.

Sitting so close to the fireplace did seem to warm her cheeks, and he noted she did indeed look better now. Her breaths had slowed to a normal pace, and her hands were warmer but not as warm as his.

"Did you feel that?"

His left hand still grasped hers while he attended to the flames. Sitting cross-legged on the wood floors, he already knew what she meant.

He felt her blindingly  _pure_ magic, the raw intensity of it whenever it brushed past his shadows. He specifically made thus curse for living beings, but he had never known whether or not it would work on dementors. He was pleased to know that dementors were indeed affected.

There were other dark curses, including a few to control the dementors. But he knew that it would be a time-waster to try them. The dementors were already under control by the Gamemakers.

But he never had felt that when her magic purred at him in delight as it herded dementors and lured them to his slithering shadows. Their magic circled each other in the air, as if dancing to a strange song they could not hear.

And he would be lying if he said her magic didn't leave a lasting impression.

He moved to take his hand back, shocked to find her suddenly gripping it tighter.

"Please," she only whispered.

He nodded.

They were in that silence for a moment of eternity. And it was so unusual to Tom, because it didn't feel  _long enough_. Peaceful, quiet, and content.

"What did you remember?"

"It's. . . Something I can't tell you." But a smile quirked at her lips. " _Viva la revolución_ ," she echoed.

And the corner of his lips slowly turned upwards in mutual understanding.


	40. XXXX. The Final Meeting

_XXXX._

He didn't need an official summons from the President to know he was in very big trouble. The dementors had failed to kill either of the tributes, and worse of all, it made the Capitol audience more approving of the District 12 tribute-District 2 Career alliance. There were now little side bets about whether or not the alliance would be  _consummated._

He shivered. That show of light and dark magic was not expected at all, and furthermore, he really did think one of them would be offed by the dementors.

"Enter." The high-pitched, girly voice did nothing to soothe his nerves.

"Madam President." He nodded in respect.

"Tea?"

"No. Thank you, Madam, for the offer."

"Very well." She raised her finger, and he swore that a huge whiff of lavender perfume swarmed at his nose. She sipped from her cup of tea.

The Head Gamemaker stood there, wondering how long before she would reveal what she wanted from him. He could feel her reveling in her power over him.

Fudge shifted his weight.

"Make sure the District 4 Career is crowned Victor."

He nodded quickly.

"And."

Her single word made his heart stop.

"Make sure the other two dies. Not just silly dementors. Die. Painfully. So everyone would know that  _rules_  are meant to be taken seriously." She said softly, wrinkling her nose. " _Viva_. Live. What he said to the spew tribute. Pathetic. Both of them. Kill their hope."

"Yes, Madam President."


	41. XXXXI. Together

_XXXXI._

She shivered once again, though this time it wasn't from the cold that had settled into her bones. She stared an awfully long time at his profile, surprised yet not surprised that this was the appearance of a Career. He really was too beautiful for this kind of word, but that was exactly what made him so perfect for it. He seemed untouchable despite facing down a gang of dementors nearly an hour ago.

His fingers twitched in her hands. He turned his eyes to their interlocked hands, brushing away her palms. He muttered an unfamiliar incantation, and shadow-like wisps melted out from his left palm. It was like the opposite of the Patronus Charm, in which light emerged.

Here, the darkness was summoned.

A whisper past through her lips. Then light intertwined through his shadows, weaving through each other.

"Wandless," he noted softly.

"I learned wandless magic when I was unaware of what it was. Cause my parents were squibs."

And she swore he looked at her with a glint in his dark eyes. She looked down at their magical light show, where it was safer to glance. But it wasn't.

His magic intensively sang to her. Darkly, possessively, hungrily. It wanted to watch hers, and it wanted to absorb her but it also wanted to  _protect_  her. She shivered once more, catching Tom's attention.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. "It's. . ."

You.

She did not say it aloud.

But he smirked, as if he knew. As if he heard her head, her thoughts, her very soul. His eyes glowed, almost preening.

She couldn't explain it. But she wanted to draw him to her, like the moon pulling on the tides of the earth. She wanted to know the way his lips tasted like, she wanted to know what was underneath his shirt, she wanted to feel his skin, and she  _wanted_ a thousand things she may never ever receive.

Such was the way of wanting so much.

Their spells ceased as Tom tilted his head this way and then that. She slowly ran a finger underneath his defined jaw, and when her fingertips brushed the bottom of his lips, he stopped holding back. There was no other way to say it: he seized her.

Nipping at her neck, with hands roaming the small curves of her body, he seemed to be pressing his weight down into her, as if he could not get  _close enough_.

"Do you know what you do to me? How you feel against me?"

She nodded, the feel of his erection pushing down her stomach a good hint. Her small hands snaked underneath his shirt, pulling it over his head. She threw it at the fire.

Oops. But not really.

Smugly, he asked, "Come on, Hermione. Are you a witch or what?"

She glared, and with a snap of her fingers, his shirt disappeared. Feeling courageous, she dragged her nails over his naked back, determined to leave a mark. "It's impolite to go too fast, Tom." She gave him a cheeky grin. "Or else, I might curse you."

He fumbled at her belt, smoothly pulling it out. It dropped to the floor with a clang. Then, eyes hard, he told her, "It's impolite to talk so much. Or else, I might curse you."

"I may stop talking if you start actually doing—" His thumb flicked over her clit. "Oh, fuck."

"You were saying?" He wondered, perhaps a little too innocently.

"Fuck you," she grunted, as a wave of pleasure flowed through her body. Her mind was narrowed to a single point in her body, and she felt no chill but fire.

Lifting her up, he settled in the armchair and planted her on his lap. Her legs opened at his touch, and a small part of Hermione was instantly reminded of horseback riding. Grinding hard against that  _spot_ , he vanished their pants and left his tip pointing right at her entrance.

"Have you?"

She nodded. It was a brief tryst that she barely remembered anymore.

A dark look came over his face. "Then I intend to make this memorable." Slowly, incredibly slowly, his hands lowered her hips onto him.

Impaling her.

He allowed her to familiarize herself with his girth, then he tightened his grip on her hips. As she moved herself, moaning freely at the heat, the heights, the stars, she became undone at the very seams of her soul. He came in her and Apparated to his bed, pulling out his softening cock.

He was free in his movements as he spooned her, making Hermione wonder if he was more affected by the dementors than he appeared to be.


	42. XXXXII. The Ring

_XXXXII._

The next morning, he did not shy away from her contact. She was surprised, but said not a single word as he helped her with her jacket, zipping up the zipper slowly. Then he, with a circular motion of his wand, tied her messy hair into a tail. She, once again, was in awe. She could never get her hair tied without a strand out of place.

She said, "Almost the end now."

He turned towards her, his hands held in a fist. "I know. She will die before we will."

Hermione did not know why those words were comforting to her ears. That girl had a life. She deserved to live. Yet she won't. Because of the Capitol.

It wasn't right.

"Hermione," he called out to her, drawing her forward from the depths of her mind. He unfolded his fingers. In the center of his palm was a ring. The ring she had seen him wear ever since she had met him. "Keep this for me."

She raised an eyebrow. "A ring?"

He smiled slightly. "It's my district token."

"Then you should wear it." She blinked. She didn't understand why he wanted to give her his district token. The district token was a gift from someone of their home district who meant very much to a tribute. It should not be given to her, who hailed from another district.

"It's my family ring."

"Your family?"

"My mother's, actually." Then carefully picking up her right hand from her side, he curled her fingers to enclose it. "Keep it safe for me."

Enclosed in her fist, the ring seemed to contently hum.


	43. XXXXIII. Finale

_XXXXIII._

They reached Cornucopia an hour before sunset. They even had time to set up a nice, roaring fire and cook a few birds Tom caught in his traps.

"Multiplied food?"

She nodded.

"That's impossible to be done," he said, but there was a time of disbelief in his words. "But this means. . ."

With three waves over the bird, Hermione made the bird multiply once.

He shook his head. "That is. . ."

She supposed it wasn't every day that he, Tom Riddle, was rendered speechless.

Before she could add an explanation about the food multiplying charm, a howl echoed across the Arena. It was the strangest howl. Hermione had never heard one so filled with despair and agony. A chill sent her spine tingling.

"That is not a werewolf." Tom realized, "Anti-Apparition wards are on."

"Finale."

He nodded. "The District 4 Tribute should be on her way here now. Three of us. Only one can be Victor."

The first of the beasts came running out of the jungles. They were snarling, spitting beasts with furs of various colors.

"Up!" He grabbed her hand and then pulled her to the empty Cornucopia, picking Hermione up as if she weighed nearly nothing. She noticed later that he was clever enough to cast a subtle Levitation Charm. Throwing a glance back at the beasts, he simply flew up into the sky. His grip tightened as the dogs angrily barked at them as if they weren't supposed to fly.

Hermione shook off her shock at Tom's ability to fly. Determination settled in, and with a pointed swish, she threw the Stunning Spell at one.

It simply bounced off its chest.

She frowned, upping to a darker spell. The Slicing Hex seemed to affect them, but it only made them more angry.

"Darker."

With a nod, she jabbed, " _Confringo!"_  The menacing dog hit directly by the jet of light exploded into millions of bloody pieces. Its fellow mutts snarled at Hermione, a strange white glow appearing over the entire pack. . .

Almost like. . .

"Oh, fuck, it's a Shield Charm."

Her thoughts exactly.

A vomit-colored curse sent by Tom tested the shield. It bounced off smoothly and nearly hit them on its way back. Tom quickly flew them a meter down, cursing under his breath. A secondary curse of dark red light whisked past their ears.

That was not from them.

"There!" He pointed to the edge of the forest. Sure enough, the District 4 Career hid partially behind vines as she made eye contact to the two aerial tributes. "She's here." The mutts did not seem to notice her at all.

"Mutts and a witch aiming curses at us." Hermione looked, trying to puzzle her way out. "We are stuck up here. So we have to fight."

He nodded. "Finale." A pause. "You draw away the mutts and I fight her. Or would you like to duel her?"

"You are better at curses than I am," she pointed out. "You can probably get through the shield faster."

"Okay, I will draw the mutts away from you." Then he hesitated, initiating a slow, aguishly slow kiss.

This could be their last, she realized.

"I'll drop you close to her." He moved them above the jungle, the dogs barking as they paddled quickly across the clearing. "Use  _Arresto Momentum._ "

"I know it."

Then he let her go, about 200 meters away from Delphi's current position. She fell through the air, somewhat aware of Tom diving down to the ground, his wand flashing bright. She spun around and found the green tops of the trees hurling towards her.

" _Arresto Momentum!"_ Her fall slowed, and Hermione winced at the noise she was making while slamming through the leaves. Her fall stopped inches before the ground, and she quickly picked herself up.

Her eyes adjusted to the dimming light. Her wand flashed for a moment. " _Homenum Revelio_." There was a pull in Hermione's gut, and she had an inkling of where the Career was.

 _Thisssss way_.

Hermione shook her head, unsure if she was now hearing voices. The spell was not supposed to do that. Supposedly. She had never really tried it in an open space. Only a room where Harry and Neville stood to see if it was a spell worth teaching to the AC12.

_Wrong way. Your leftttttt. . ._

She did not dare to look at the AC12 coin for information. Information that may help her. She had to put her hope in the slurring, whispering voices.

In her heart, she knew the mutts did not speak like that.

_Ssssstop. Sssshe will see you._

Hermione ducked behind a cup-like plant. She carefully scanned her surroundings, and her heart thumped a little faster at the black-haired head moving towards her.

It was the Career.

Hermione ducked in her breath. She knew that she could not use the Killing Curse due to the suppression curse on all the wands. She knew that she could not—

Suddenly, a tree branch fell behind Hermione. She was barely able to duck out of the way before she was crushed under its weight. Grimacing at the loss of surprise, she quickly threw up a Shield Charm just as the Career shouted, " _Expulso_!"

Hermione's wand flashed brightly as she alternated between defense and offense. The Career attempted to sneak in a few jinxes behind Hermione's shield to no avail.

Waving in a complex motion, she used the leaves of the trees to sharpen their edges to slice through the Career's shield. Most of it disintegrated on contact with the shield, but the ones coming from behind took the Career by surprise.

Blood dripped from her mouth.

Hermione knew she had to end her. Before the Career got a lucky shot. Stomping the ground, she pointed her wand at the earth and nonverbally called upon one of the darkest curses she had ever had the chance to read.

The earth rose.

Sluggy, black mud pulled at the Career's feet. The Career panicked, her attention turned towards the liquid dirt under Hermione's control. A single second of focus taken off of the shield, and Hermione silently said, " _Reducto_!"

The Career exploded into dust.

And then there was a male, almost primal scream of pain that tore at Hermione's core.

**Boom.**

"Tom!"

She ran, faster than she had ever ran before. Her lungs burned, and she made it back to the clearing of where this Hunger Games had all began. And there, with no mutts in sight, was the Career from District 2 bleeding on the dirty ground.


	44. XXXXIV. The Final Two

_XXXXIV._

" _Tom_!"

She looked at him, a thousand of thoughts running through her mind. But she had never felt so  _helpless_  and  _arrested_  in this single moment. He was a mangle of sticky blood, broken bones, and ripped flesh. Barely alive now. She quickly went to his side and held his torso in her lap, her fingers curling into his shoulders. His head was heavier than it should be as a dark liquid spilled from the corner of his mouth.

She never thought him leaving would make her hurt this much. She never thought he could make her feel this way. She never thought that this would happen. His words echoed in her head.

_In the end, it's always meant to be you and me._

His dark eyes were holding back the pain he felt. She examined his most serious wounds and pointed her wand at his stomach, which was running a mixture of cursed black liquid and red blood. The healing spell, despite all the will and magic she threw at it, refused to heal. She tried a painless charm, which only made him bite through his pale lips in an attempt to suppress his cry.

"A dark wound," she breathed.

He understood immediately. Wincing, he lifted his bloody hand from his bitten and ruined abdomen. The blood now flowed faster. He possessed little time. No time at all. His beautiful, ruined fingers wrapped around the ring she wore on her hand. Wet hand over shaking hand, his district token hiding from view.

"Remember. . . me. . . Hermione."

She nodded, punched to see him filled with  _acceptance_. Then she lifted her wand at him one more time. She remembered him in this moment. And she remembered that even though he was a Career and one of the best tributes in the Games, he was also a friend, a lover, and most importantly, someone who understood her much more deeply than anyone else possibly could. She had no name for that, except that she knew  _friend_  seemed so  _inadequate_  to use.

 _Tom. Her Tom_. It was the only word she could use.

With the force of her magic and will, she moved her mouth and broke through her wand's suppression. The wood shell of her wand cracked as magic coursed through its core. She cast the one spell the Capitol would never allow her to use.

For it granted a painless death.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

The green flash of light lit up the top of Cornucopia. And then he was dead, his face slack and his eyes soft. Peaceful at last. She held onto his hair, tears flowing down her paling cheeks. She was deaf to the final song of the cannon. She was blind to the fact that her wand had shattered into a billion pieces upon completion of the Killing Curse. She was dead to the world when they announced her as the Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games.

And she felt nothing when a house elf untangled her from her Tom.

_Always meant to be you and me._


	45. XXXXV. Please

_XXXXV._

_Tom?_

_You lied to me._

_In the end, there's no you._

_Come back to me._

_Please._


End file.
